Conflict Of Interest
by enthusiasmgirl
Summary: There has always been a conflict at the heart of Matt's decision to be Daredevil. He can't be both without compromising something, and even when he chooses one, the other gets in the way.


"Hey," the irritated voice said as he replayed the voice mail a second time, just to be sure he heard it correctly, "I need your help. Or I should say a mutual friend needs your help. Matt Murdock's help, not... well, you know. Get to the 15th Street Station. They'll know who you're there for."

He had no choice but to take the case, whatever it might be. He may not have a law firm anymore or be actively practicing law, but he owed Claire everything. He couldn't just ignore her request. So he put on his suit, his nicest business suit with it's braille on the label, threw on his sunglasses and tried to slip back into a life he thought he'd left behind when Foggy had walked out of Nelson and Murdock with his boxes. It was a life that felt like someone else's now, after Elektra and Stick and the Hand and night after night of stalking the city from the shadows.

When he stepped through the doors of the station, he wasn't sure what to do. He approached the reception desk. "Matt Murdock, here for..." he trailed off. Claire hadn't provided him with any details.

"Murdock!" a voice yelled. It was Brett. "This way," he was told, and he followed, still confused.

"I haven't seen you around lately," Brett said, attempting small talk. "Your ex-partner, on the other hand? Won't leave me alone. I think I liked it better when you guys needed me to stay in business and he couldn't just barge in here and bail out whoever he pleased with a deep checkbook and the aid of powerful people backing him up. Although maybe I should be more afraid of how quiet you've been?"

"I've been laying low," Matt told him, as Brett opened a door and led him into an interrogation room.

"Yeah, real low based on the kind of clients you're taking on these days," Brett said. "Mr. Herrera," he then addressed the man sitting in the room. "Your attorney is here." With that, Brett left.

Once Matt was alone with his new client, he realized that something about the man was familiar. The smell, and how slight his frame was and the way he carried himself. Matt knew him, but he wasn't sure how.

"Mr. Herrera?" he said. "You requested me?"

"Si," said the man. "Santino Herrera. Amigo de Claire. Ella le envió para que me ayude?"

Santino. Claire's friend. The one who had helped him when he needed it, who had seen his face under the mask.

Yes, Matt replied in Spanish. She sent me to help you. I'm a lawyer. What did you do?

Does it matter? Santino asked him in response. You're gonna get me out of it anyway, right?

Not if I don't know what you did, Matt told him, surprised by the other man's smugness.

Santino sat back in his chair, and Matt could feel himself being observed even without being able to see it. I was just making a living, that's all, he said finally. But I can't get legal work. I gotta take care of my mother and sister. Nobody wants to hire a kid who can't speak good English and looks like me. So they caught me dealing? So what?

Dealing what? Matt asked. There was a folder sitting on the table, Santino's file, but it was useless to him.

Just some Oxys and Ritalin, man. Can't get much else these days since the Punisher took out the Colombians. But he didn't wipe out their debts and mine came due. What was I supposed to do?

Why did you have debt to the Colombians? Matt asked.

Do you really wanna know? Santino asked. Why make this harder on yourself?

I'm here to help you, Santino, Matt told him, trying to remain calm.

No, you're not! Santino replied. You're here to help yourself, Daredevil. Now, I haven't said nothing to nobody so far about what I know because Claire asked me not to. And you don't tell that lady no or give her a reason to abandon you if you know what's good for you. But you're not just the mysterious man in black anymore. You're famous. There are all kinds of newspapers and networks out there willing to pay for information about you. And I bet the fact that you are just a blind beat-down lawyer would be a hell of a story, huh? Or maybe the cops might want to know? Get your vigilante ass off their streets? There might even be a reward. He stood up as though he were going to call for an officer.

He was stopped by Matt's hand on his arm, pulling him back down into his seat.

That's what I thought, Santino said. So what can you do for me, Mr. Murdock?

Later, in the suit he was now more comfortable in, he stood on the rooftop across the street observing Santino being welcomed home by his mother and sister in their small apartment. With his heightened senses, he could smell the large stash of pills and drugs hidden in the man's bedroom, and the guns in his dresser.

He'd made his choice. When he had first put on the mask, first beaten that man by the train tracks, he thought he'd chosen the path without compromise. The path without fear that Elektra and Stick wanted him on. It was terrifying at first, but then felt liberating.

But he'd failed. Again.

Because he couldn't take off either mask anymore. He didn't know who he was. And the idea of a day when he had to face both terrified him.


End file.
